


Offerings

by emmadilla



Series: The World of Skyrim [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Daedra Worship, Daedric Princes, Daedric Quests, Gen, History, Lore - Freeform, OC isn't the dragonborn, dunmer lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadilla/pseuds/emmadilla
Summary: Shelvani has lived most of her life shunning all deities, living her life by selling her bow and blade to the highest bidder. After years of mercenary work, however, she cannot deny that she feels unfulfilled, and so goes on a search to find what is missing in her life.





	1. Remembering Resdayn

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, just quick note before you guys read ... this first chapter deals with a LOT of lore that sets up the story. I had to do tons of research for it, but unfortunately some of the lore - especially the older stuff - is harder to find concrete information on, so I've had to do a little guesswork and patching here and there. I have tried, though, to make it as accurate as possible! So I hope any lore nerds out there don't look on me too hard for any mistakes.

_Long ago, there was no such thing as a Dunmer. They simply did not exist. Their ashy, blue grey skin and red eyes were not to be seen in any parts of Tamriel or any other continent on Nirn. No, instead, the people who would become Dunmer were known as Chimer, the people of the north, and while their golden skin was a few shades darker than their Altmer cousins, they were otherwise indistinguishable in appearance. It was these people that the prophet, Veloth, acting on behalf of the Daedric Prince Boethiah, lead to settle Resdayn, later known as Morrowind. They were the ones who came into direct conflict with the Dwemer, along with other groups of Nedes and even Orcs, and though they eventually prevailed, it was at great cost of their culture. Instead of the High Velothi that they used to be, for a time becoming simply a collection of barbarian tribes. Many of these tribes would eventually evolve into the Great Houses of Morrowind, though some would persist with their tribal culture and become known as Ashlanders._

 

_During this time, however, they persisted in their Daedra worship. Boethiah, Mephala, and Azura were well regarded and worshipped as the Good Daedra, who bestowed knowledge and blessings upon the Chimer, and as such supported them throughout time. However, it was not always to be that way. In the first era, the Nordic King Vrage pushed into Morrowind, attempting to take it over for himself. The hero and Chimer leader Indoril Nerevar forged an alliance with the Dwemer to repel them, which was successful, however it triggered a series of events that would prove to be the downfall of them all. Discovery of the Heart of Lorkhan pitted the Chimer against the Dwemer and led to the Battle of the Red Mountain, the battle that saw the death of Nerevar and the disappearance of the Dwemer race. Later, it was the ALMSIVI, the Tribunal, who used the Heart of Lorkhan to achieve divinity, using their newfound power to manipulate the people into believing that the Tribunal was the completion, the fulfillment of the Daedric Princes whom they’d so fervently worshipped. As such they replaced the Princes with themselves in the pantheon of worship._

 

_It was a lie, a False Tribunal. They were no more gods than mortals playing with divine power. Unlike the Aedra and the Daedra, they still had to visit and siphon energy from the Heart of Lorkhan to maintain themselves, and it is speculated that this was their downfall. Azura saw to it, enraged by the betrayal of the Tribunal and the subsequent abandonment of the Chimer people, she cursed the Chimer, turning their skin dark and their eyes red. It was reminiscent of her own appearance, a message to the Tribunal that the people would never truly be theirs, and their treason would eventually be their downfall._

 

_And so it was that the Chimer became the Dunmer, the Dark Elves. Even the Tribunal was affected to some degree, Sotha Sil becoming a full Dunmer and Vivec notably becoming half Dunmer and half Chimer, a line of delineation marking the change. Only Almalexia kept her golden skin pure, and perhaps it was this that determined the hand she would play in the downfall of the ALMSIVI._

 

_Of course, the appearance of the Nerevarine, the reincarnation of Indoril Nerevar, marked the end for them. In the end, Sotha Sil lay dead at paranoid Almalexia’s hand, and Almalexia was slain by the Nerevarine. Some time after, Vivec disappeared, leaving the Dunmer people in the wake of the Oblivion crisis. Only several short years later, Baar Dau - the rock suspended above Vivec City - fell, destroying the city and turning it into Scathing Bay. That was not the only result of Baar Dau’s fall, as it also sent waves of tsunamis across the land, which pounded mainland Morrowind, and triggered another eruption of the Red Mountain, which saw the destruction of Vvardenfell. The Red Year would permanently change the face of Morrowind._

 

_It was after this that the Daedric Princes were finally reinstated to the Dunmer pantheon, becoming known as The Reclamations. The people finally saw the error of their ways, and the Princes gained back those who had left them while blinded by the ALMSIVI. Despite their return to worshipping them, the Dunmer retained their darkened appearance, to always remind them of their mistake so that they might never make it again._

 

— — —

 

Shelvani sat back in her chair in the New Gnises club, closing the book she had been reading as she took a long sip of ale from her cup. Ordinarily, the mercenary would never be interested in reading anything regarding religion. In her childhood, spent in Valenwood, her family had been devoutly religious, her mother especially as she constantly prayed to and worshipped Vivec, even after the events of the Red Year, insisting that the Dunmer had simply lost their way and that the Warrior Poet would return if only his followers believed in him enough.

 

But he never did. Her mother eventually died for her beliefs, ignoring illness in favour of worship until she was on her deathbed. Even then, she would call out to Vivec, beseeching him, asking him to return. Even in the midst of hallucinations, she would cry out to him, even saying that he had selected her as his prophet and that he would heal her upon his return, even going so far as to refuse medical help to ease her passing due to her faith. Shelvani tended to her as best as a child could, but of course her amateur efforts could not stave off the inevitable, or make it any easier, and she watched her mother succumb, thrashing and crying out in pain, pleading with the Warrior Poet to come and heal her. From that moment, her heart was hardened towards any deity. Vivec, of course, bore the brunt of her wrath, but really any deity - Aedra or Daedra - could go suck a silt strider as far as she was concerned.

 

Her family was never particularly wealthy, and for years had managed to just scrape by on the combined income of her parents. After her mother’s death, however, they descended into abject poverty. Her father, instead of shunning the gods as Shelvani did, still worshipped and even cut into his own family’s food in order to do so. As a result, Shelvani and her siblings had developed a pinched, slightly undernourished look about them that had never quite faded. Her youngest brother, a babe when their mother passed, never made it out of childhood. Shelvani raged, blaming everyone from her devout father, to her dead mother, to the gods themselves for abandoning them. In her mind, who could allow a mother to die, and subsequently doom an innocent child as well? No god worthy of her worship, she deemed. Her father was initially disappointed in her rejection of their faith, but he thought it was simply a phase and would pass in time. When it did not, he became incensed at her, hurling anything from verbal abuse to objects at her, trying to shove her back into the faith she so strongly resented. But it was no use. If anything, the abuse strengthened her resolve, and when she was 16 she left her family completely, running as far and as fast as she could.

 

Shelvani was lucky, as far as runaways go, that she fell in with a group of mercenaries who took pity on the scrappy teenager and took her in. They allowed her to travel with them and learn skills from them, and in exchange she helped them in their jobs when she could and did grunt work when she couldn’t. There were worse arrangements out there, and she eventually came to see them as a sort of family to her. Though she trained in many different forms of combat, she especially took to archery, utilizing stealth in a way that made her one of the deadliest snipers they’d ever come across. In hand to hand combat, however, she preferred pulling out a greatsword and hacking her enemies down. She had seen far too often that stealth alone could not save a person, and she was determined not to be cut down in the shadows.

 

When she was 24, she bid her adopted family goodbye. In the years since she’d come to know them, they had grown older and were not as interested in traveling for lucrative jobs anymore. Instead, they would settle for simple, local jobs that would net enough money to survive so they could go back to the inns and eat and drink until they either bedded someone or just passed out. They were comfortable with living out their golden years in inns and pubs, being paid to bully people or guard mines. While she respected their wish to live out the rest of their lives in relative peace, her life was only just beginning, and so she parted with them on good terms to seek out her own adventure.

 

For the next ten years, Shelvani carved her own path across Tamriel, from Stros M’Kai to Blacklight, from Wayrest to Riverhold, from Arenthia to Cheydinhal, Her mercenary work saw her lend her bow and blade to a variety of patrons, and the more she built up her reputation the more well-paying her patrons became. She lived pretty high on the horse, but never in one place for long. Bravil was one city she tended to go back to, but it was never long before the call of adventure seduced her and she headed out the city gates once more. For better or worse, that was the one place she maintained an actual residence, a simple one bedroom home above the water. A bit reminiscent of Riften, if she was honest, though not as shady. As far and wide as her reputation spread, in Bravil she was simply Shel. Sometimes she was happy that way, but other times she found it too confining and that was when she took off yet again.

 

Normally, she found adventuring and mercenary work fulfilling, but within the past couple of years, it didn’t seem to feel the same as it had. Sure, in the moment, in the heat of battle and the rush of bloodshed, she felt alive and free and even happy. But once it was over, she felt empty and unfulfilled, left wondering how she could placate herself again. She took lovers, but none of them stayed long with her wandering ways. She started to take to drink more and more, but it only made her sloppy on the job and almost ended up costing her the vision in her left eye. She had managed to dodge just in time to avoid the more ghastly injury, but three deep, small scars still adorned her cheek, a reminder of how close she’d come to being maimed. From then on, she shunned drink on the job, preferring to have all of her senses along with her body intact.

 

But still, she had not found any resolution to her problem. She continued her mercenary work, jobbing out wherever she could, going as far as she was able on Tamriel without leaving the continent. Yet she found no peace.

 

In her travels, she met a young monk who was studying history at a college. He was very passionate about his subject, and while she was less than thrilled, he’d lent her a couple of books and begged her to give it a chance. He said that he thought she might find it meaningful. She doubted that, but threw the books in her pack and promised him she’d read them. She didn’t, not at first, not for a long while. But eventually, during a loud thunderstorm when she was back home in Bravil, unable to sleep for the shuddering thunder claps above her, she finally dug out the books and opened them.

 

They were books on the history of the Dunmer people, even before they were Dunmer. Before Morrowind was Morrowind, when it was known as Resdayn. Even before Trinimac was devoured by Boethiah and became Malacath. They were about Veloth and his guidance of the Chimer, of how Mephala, Boethiah, and Azura had helped and aided the Chimer. Of how the Chimer had been cursed and turned into Dunmer when they turned their backs on the Daedric Princes in favour of the False Tribunal. Of the Nerevarine and how they managed to kickstart the end of the Tribunal’s hold on the people. Of the reinstatement of The Reclamations, the original Daedric pantheon.

 

To her surprise, it did indeed interest Shelvani, and she had to know more. She scoured the Imperial City for books on the subject, but eventually set out to find more, wondering if the young monk would be able to guide her search. Alas, when she was finally able to catch up with him, she discovered he’d been killed in a bandit raid, his blood still warm on the ground. She mourned, not only because it made her search difficult, but because he had been so young and passionate. Not unlike how she had been, once, if she had favoured books over bows and blades.

 

It did not stop her search, however, as she traveled from college to college, from school to monastery, buying and subsequently devouring any books she could get her hands on. At first, she wasn’t really sure what to think about everything, about the Daedric Princes and the False Tribunal. But the more she read, especially the accounts with a more personal touch, the more she felt a twinge of … guilt? Longing? She wasn’t quite sure yet. Even though she hadn’t personally turned her back on the Daedra who had directly influenced the growth of her people, she couldn’t help but feel that she owed them something. She had never thought herself capable of being devout in any kind of way, but after much reading and meditation, she found she was already devout … devout to battle, to adventure, to travel. Surely worshipping The Reclamations truly required little more.

 

And so she sat in the squalid pub situated in the Grey Quarter of Windhelm. She had just traveled from the College of Winterhold with this book, the keeper of tomes not eager to part with it, though she had offered a price that was more than fair. He eventually scowled, grabbed the septims she’d sat on the table, and told her to leave. She considered it a victory that she had managed to negotiate a sale with him at all. She didn’t truly _need_ it, no, she had all the information that books would tell her. But she couldn’t pass up the chance for the personal musings of a little known historian that had never before been published.

 

The rest of her information came on rumors, gossip passed between bar patrons and beggars, for her mission was one that she had to keep secret. In order to try to find the fulfillment she so desperately wanted, she wanted to complete the trials in order to become the champion of all three Daedric Princes of The Reclamations. Of course, pledging yourself to a Daedric Prince and becoming their champion was not exactly information to be found in a book, but she had managed to track down the information she needed.

 

Shelvani drained the rest of her cup and left a few septims as a tip for the bartender. She pulled up her hood to help brace her against the cold as she made her way out of the inn and down the narrow, rough path that circled the Grey Quarter. The sun had already set and the wind that picked up was bitterly cold, no longer warmed in any measure by the sun. Shelvani pulled her long dark cloak tighter around her as she approached the large city gates, only relinquishing her hold on her cloak in order to open it and slip out.

 

The path from Windhelm’s main gate was breathtakingly beautiful, she admitted. The path sat several hundred feet above the frozen river, and beyond that stretched the rich tundra of Skyrim. Windhelm was far enough north that the landscape was almost always covered in snow. She only hoped that her destination would prove to be slightly warmer.

 

She approached the carriage driver and asked him if he was taking any more rides. “Sure, where do you want to go?” he asked.

 

She grinned softly, so subtly she doubted he could even see it. “Whiterun.”


	2. Whispers in the dark

By the time Shelvani’s carriage pulled up to the stables outside Whiterun, it was about mid-afternoon. The sky was overcast and a light rain was falling, but thankfully it was indeed warmer than Windhelm, exactly what the mercenary had been hoping. She pulled her hood further over her head to prevent the rain from falling in her eyes as she hopped down off of the carriage, not bothering to keep her cloak wrapped so tightly around her. The air was cool, but pleasantly so, and so she kept a steady hand on the hilt of her dagger as she walked up to the main gate.

 

The guards didn’t bother her and simply let her in, likely wishing they were gathered somewhere dry and warm instead of being on guard duty outside of one of the quietest cities in Skyrim. Whiterun was a trading hub for the entire country, and so while it saw its influx of visitors, they usually kept things civil so that they could continue their business.

 

The streets were quickly becoming mud pits, and Shelvani deftly dodged the worst of them. A few children ran down the main path, almost running smack into her before they dodged and continued their chasing game. Their clothes were spattered with mud, and she suspected their mothers may scold them later, but for now they simply enjoyed themselves in the moment, uncaring as to the troubles of the world. She envied them for their ignorance.

 

The street lead straight up into the town’s square, where several merchant carts were set up to barter various wares, from vegetables and meat to fine jewelry. Shelvani ignored them all and walked into the inn called The Bannered Mare, eager for a mug of ale and a chance to relax after her long journey. Even though she’d journeyed by cart, it was still a bit of a rough venture, certain parts of the road absolutely unforgiving. She wondered if she would have been just as sore simply walking all the way, but the ride had at least given her a chance to think and plan, something that walking would not have afforded her since she would have had to keep a close eye out for thieves looking to ambush a lone adventurer.

 

Based on the rumors she had heard, Mephala’s artifact was somewhere in Whiterun. Nobody she had talked to or overheard had known its exact location, unfortunately, the only thing that was constant was that the last anyone had heard of it had been in Whiterun before it had disappeared. Of course, there was always the possibility that it had been transported somewhere else under cover, and that it had only been _seen_ last here, but Shelvani did not think this was the case. A Daedric artifact was difficult to keep hush hush about, and she had a feeling that had it been transported elsewhere, it would have revealed itself in some way. Daedric artifacts had their own way of making themselves known.

 

The inn was a bit darker than she had been expecting, though a roaring fire was burning away in the pit in the middle of the room. A bard sang to the few patrons that were even in the place at this time of day. Shelvani was surprised at the number, but figured it would help her to not stick out as much as she took a seat at the bar itself. The innkeeper was a pleasant enough older woman who introduced herself as Hulda and took her order: a mug of ale and some stew. Nothing chased the chill away quite like a hardy stew. Hulda called out the food order to a Redguard woman named Saadia while she poured Shelvani a mug of ale and handed it to her. She went ahead and laid down the septims as she took a long swallow, starting to feel refreshed already. Saadia didn’t dally with the food order, and soon enough Shelvani was digging in, taking the time to mull over her next course of action now that she was finally here. In the meantime, Hulda tended to a few more patrons before situating herself behind the bar again. Shelvani figured she didn’t have anything to lose, and asked her if there were any interesting rumors.

 

Hulda gave her a few tidbits of useless information, about the Companions recruiting new members and the Gildergreen tree dying. Shelvani had no use for this type of information and had almost given up on getting anything useful out of her when she finally landed on something good. Hulda bit her lip and looked around for a moment before she lowered her voice slightly and said, “Well, been hearing some strange tales about the Jarl’s children. They say one’s turning wicked, and the others have an ill-favoured look about them.” She leaned back from the bar and added, “Best to keep clear.”

 

Something about that seemed … familiar. To anyone else it seemed like an innocuous rumor, but something inside Shelvani stirred at hearing those words. Sudden personality changes were odd enough, but in a place like Whiterun it seemed positively out of place. So much so that Shelvani suspected a certain Daedric influence spinning her web. It still wasn’t much to go on, but it would have to be enough.

 

After she finished her stew and her ale, she thanked Hulda, tipped her a few extra septims for her information, and walked out of the bar. A man in dark robes tried to get her to stay for a special drink of his, but Shelvani brushed him off, thinking he was just another pervert trying to take advantage of her. It was strange how some Nords openly disliked Dunmer so much and yet were so willing to bed someone like her. She supposed it was the exotic appeal of it all, but it still turned her stomach to even think of crawling into bed with someone who potentially regarded her as less than simply because of her race. And while the man didn’t give off the racist vibes that she actively avoided, there was still something about him that sent a chill down her spine.

 

She paused as she hit the bottom of the steps, wondering how she should go about this. It wasn’t like she was a confidant of the Jarl here, though she had met him briefly a few times before. She would have to play this very carefully in order to get what she wanted. But, she had been waiting a long time for this already, she could stand to be patient a little while longer.

 

She ascended the stairs that took her to Dragonsreach, entering the keep and hoping that she would be allowed to linger there as much as she needed. She had suspected previously that the keep might hold some answers for her, and this all but confirmed it. Now it was just a matter of figuring out _where_ such a thing might be kept.

 

The king’s housecarl - a fellow Dunmer named Irileth - was initially a bit hesitant about letting a mercenary in Dragonsreach. Shelvani was ready to utilize some speech skills of hers, but Jarl Balgruuf saved her the need to, recognizing her from the few valuable jobs she had performed for him. She smiled as he bid her to stay; it certainly did pay off to take jobs from Jarls. The fact that, despite her facial scars, she was still an attractive woman, probably only helped matters. While she preferred to use weapons over womanly wiles, they were useful. And, in occasions like this, necessary to reach a goal. And when the Jarl of Whiterun was inviting the famed mercenary for a drink in his quarters - a special wine, imported from Cyrodiil, to show his thanks for her service - who was she to decline?

 

They were mostly alone, the only others in short distance being the guards outside the room. Shelvani had willingly handed over her weapons, however, as a show of good faith, so she was completely unarmed. She didn’t normally like being without a weapon; it made her feel vulnerable and naked in a way. But the trust she gained by handing them over was worth it. She was getting ever closer to her goal, she could feel it.

 

The wine was sweet and heavy, and Shelvani minded how much she drank so that she wouldn’t become too drunk to do what she was here for. She encouraged Balgruuf to drink more, however, even at one point pouring some wine for her cup into his own. He was so drunk at that point, she wasn’t even sure if he noticed. If he did, he didn’t say anything as he simply brought the cup to his lips and drank more. Balgruuf the Greater was, in general, a good man. He was a just Jarl who cared for his people and did whatever he could to protect and help them. He had suffered some great losses, however, one of them his wife. Shelvani actually felt a bit sorry for the man, as after he’d gotten enough wine in him, it was apparent that he was very alone. She let him set a hand on her thigh, though she hoped she wouldn’t have to go further than that. He wasn’t an unattractive man, but he wasn’t Shelvani’s type, and she was hoping to get what she came for without bedding anyone. If it came down to it, she figured she’d had worse, but it would make things in the future simpler if she didn’t consort with the Jarl of Whiterun.

 

Thankfully it did not come to that, as soon after he was lamenting the loss of his wife, the conversation turned toward his children. At first, he didn’t seem to want to say anything specific about them, but after some innocent prodding, he finally spoke of his concern. “It’s Nelkir, my youngest son. He’s a … a dark child. I don’t know what to do with him. He was always a quiet lad, but lately … lately something has changed. He’s become brooding. Violent, even. He won’t say a word to me, but I don’t know how I upset him.” His eyes were filled with genuine tears, the tears that fathers shed over their wayward sons. “If you could speak to him, perhaps, draw out the truth, I would be immensely grateful.”

 

Even though her head still buzzed slightly from the wine, everything else was on high alert. Shelvani now knew who her target was and she had an idea of how to go about it. While her mercenary work had seen her hone her speech skills, she felt like she was being guided with how well everything had fallen into place. She was almost giddy by the time she personally escorted the Jarl to his bed to rest, to sleep off the worst of the wine. She still felt lightheaded, herself, like she could take a nap, but she was too wired to even sit still. Once she bade the Jarl goodbye, encouraging him to rest and take his mind off his troubles, she set out to find this Nelkir, though not before collecting her weapons from the guard outside the Jarl’s room.

 

She found the youngest child of Balgruuf wandering above the main hall of Dragonsreach. She approached him carefully, trying to gauge his demeanor, but she quickly realized she would need to change her approach when he greeted her by saying, “So, the disgusting pig sent you to bother me? One day, I’ll tear his face apart so he can leave me alone.”

 

Shelvani raised her eyebrows slightly, surprised at the bitterness in his young voice. Children that young - especially privileged children of a Jarl - had no business being that bitter, but she wasn’t one to reprimand him. She remembered all too well how she had felt after losing her mother, and then her younger brother. She’d had a right to feel that way, however, just who did Nelkir think he was? He lived in a large, expansive, protected keep in one of the most peaceful cities in Skyrim, far away from the war that threatened to tear the land apart. He had fancy clothes on his back and more food than anyone knew what to do with, and probably anything he wanted that he didn’t have was only a request away. The circumstances were far different than Shelvani’s, when she’d had to watch her mother die in the leaky hut that they’d called home in Valenwood. She could have bitten back at the child, lashed out, but she held her tongue. If she was to obtain her goal, she needed to listen to him. Instead, all she said was, “That’s a rather morbid thing to say about your father.”

 

“My father doesn’t know anything about me, but I know about him. About the war. More than he might think.”

 

That definitely did sound like Mephala, as she often dealt in information. She needed a little more to go on, however, so she prodded, “And what do you know, boy?”

 

He was all too eager to share what he knew. She noted that she should probably tell Balgruuf to train his progeny to not spill all their secrets to strangers, but she let it go. “I know that my father still worships Talos, and that he hates the Thalmor as much as the Stormcloaks do. I know that he worries about being chased from Whiterun when the war comes here.” He paused for a moment, biting his lip as he stuttered, bitterly, “That he … that I’m … that I don’t have the same mother as my brother and sister.”

 

Well that was a surprise, and to those who cared it would seem downright scandalous, but Shelvani was too world-weary to care about who was a bastard and who wasn’t. _How_ he found out … that was what she _was_ interested in. “And how do you know these things?”

 

“This castle is old,” he replied. “Lots of places nobody’s been in a long while. Places where you can overhear things, see things … and the Whispering Lady.”

 

Shelvani felt her entire body seize up, hardly able to draw a breath. She knew now Mephala had manifested here in some way, likely waiting for a champion to come. She was so close to what she desperately wanted. She did her best to act nonchalant as she repeated, “The Whispering Lady? And who is that?”

 

Nelkir shrugged. “She won’t tell me her name, but I’ve heard her. At the door in the basement, that’s where she talks to me. The first time I heard her, I thought I’d been caught playing where I wasn’t supposed to, but she didn’t seem to care. She actually seemed glad I’d found her. I wish I could open the door so I could see her, but I can’t open it.”

 

Shelvani suppressed a smirk as she asked, “Where is this door, again?”

 

“In the basement, past the supply room. Trust me, you’ll see it. I bet she’ll even talk to you, too.”

 

It wasn’t exactly a precise location, but Shelvani could manage. She’d worked with less information before. The only trick was slipping down there unnoticed, but she found it was easier than she thought. The stairs were located in the kitchen, and so she simply made it look like she was interested in something there, watching the guards closely so she could slip down the steps. Once down there, she realized that the first part was used as servant’s quarters, but fortune was with her as no one was down there at the moment. _Just past the store room_ … she opened a door on the far wall and found the storage room that Nelkir had spoken of, and on the other end of the store room was another door. She quietly slipped up to the door, trying the door with the predictable result of finding it locked. She’d had to try, of course, and upon finding it locked shut she knelt at the knob and listened at the keyhole, she held her breath as she wondered if Mephala would speak to her.

 

As soon as she had pressed her ear against the door, a woman’s voice hissed, “At last … I’ve been waiting for someone more fit to carry out my will.”

 

Shelvani’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. In all her years of mercenary work, with all the bandits and rogues she’d taken on, veritable armies of enemies, it was this moment where she finally felt sick with anxiety, in the presence of a Daedric Prince.

 

The voice continued, “The child is spirited, but lacks … agency.”

 

“Are … are you behind the door, my Lady?” Shelvani whispered.

 

“Regrettably, I cannot reach your plane so directly. You please me, however, for knowing who I am. Few hear my whispers anymore. I am who you think I am: Mephala, the Lady of Whispers. I tug at the web of connections between mortals. Love, hatred, loyalty, betrayal.” Shelvani’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, hearing the confirmation for herself. She felt almost dizzy, and she wondered if that was the Daedric Prince’s influence or if it was just her body’s response. “The boy was good at sussing out secrets. You, I expect to take a more active role.”

 

“Yes, my Lady,” Shelvani replied. “What would you have me do?”

 

“First, you must open this door. A piece of my power has been locked away behind it, and even my eyes cannot see past the seals.” Mephala said, a seemingly simple task, though one Shelvani was more than willing to do for the Daedric Prince. “I’d much rather it be in the hands of an ambitious and talented person such as yourself.”

 

Shelvani felt flattered, though she wasn’t sure if Mephala was being genuine in her compliments or if she was just telling her this in order to get her to do as she commanded. Either way, she knew she must follow through with the request. She had come so far, she couldn’t give up now. “How do I open the door?” she asked, thinking that surely some magical mechanisms must be at play in order to keep a Daedric Prince separated from her artifact.

 

“The whole of Whiterun is ripe with paranoia and tensions. The Jarl’s court is right to fear the power I hold behind this door. The Jarl trusts few, and they will be his undoing. The dark child knows of what I speak. Let him guide your path.”

 

Shelvani groaned internally, loathe to talk to the spoiled brat of a child again, but Mephala had direct her to do so, so she would. She hoped he hadn’t wandered from from where she last saw him, and he had not, still occupying the same chair he had when she had first approached him. She took a deep breath before she approached him a second time, steeling herself for the snarky comments that would have gotten anyone else stabbed. As soon as she was near him, he said, “You … you know the Whispering Lady, don’t you. I can tell.”

 

“Yes, she spoke to me.” Shelvani paused for a moment, finding no other way to say this, “Do you know how to open the Whispering Door?”

 

Immediately, he sat up a little straighter, puffing out his chest in pride. “I told you, I know everything about this castle. For some reason, that door is special. Only two people can open it, Balgruuf and Farengar, the court wizard. How you get it from them is up to you. Nobody would notice if Farengar went missing, I promise you.”

 

As tempting as it was to make this trip a little more exciting with some blood, she knew better than to unnecessarily burn bridges, and she didn’t think that Balgruuf would be very happy to wake from his wine-induced nap to find his court wizard dead, especially because it would have been obvious that Shelvani was to blame, considering no one else had cause to off the Nord wizard. Instead, she crept back into his quarters, breathing a sigh of relief to find that he was still snoring. With any luck, she would be able to easily find and pocket the key before he woke. Shelvani wasn’t the smoothest pickpocket, but the alcohol dulled the Jarl’s senses enough so that he didn’t notice her searching fingers. She managed to find it in one of his pockets and crept back out of his quarters, heading back down to the basement. Fortunately, the servant was still tending to duties and not in their room, so she was able to approach the Whispering Door with no interference.

 

She was actually surprised when the door opened with a simple twist of the key. She had been expecting something more complicated, perhaps a trap to work out or an enchantment to break. To her pleasant surprise, however, the door swung open once it was unlocked, revealing a very plain room with only a table set against the wall. Her body thrummed with excitement as she approached the table, the artifact she had been seeking simply lying there, not even in a case or anything just settled against the rough wood of the table. She felt paralyzed for a moment in its presence, but after a moment she reached out her hand to take the blade, feeling the weight in her hands.

 

As she held the Ebony Blade, Mephala congratulated her. “Excellent work. Now, I trust you’re sharp enough to see that the sword doesn’t match the description of the Ebony Blade you may know.” Indeed, the sword she’d found seemed downright dull compared to what had been described. “It has languished too long outside the winds of alliance and betrayal. To return to its past glory, it must first drink the blood of deceit. Your world is admirably seemed in lies and inclinations. My blade is a darling leech that feeds on deceptions and nourishes its master. Seek out those closest to you. The final pluck of their misguided heartstrings will accompany my blade in the song of your grandeur.”

 

Shelvani locked the door as she left, the Ebony Blade securely strapped to her back in place of her normal ebony greatsword.She had left it in the room, not because she thought it would fool anyone should they look, but because she needed the scabbard to conceal what she was taking. She wasn’t going to chance someone recognizing the blade if she could help it, and indeed no one did. She quickly slipped the key back into Balgruuf’s pocket before she left Dragonsreach, looking to head back to The Bannered Mare and relax a bit before she set out on her next journey. She purposed that, before she left the city, she would write the Jarl a letter to let him know what she had found out about his son. She would leave out, of course, the fact of Mephala’s influence, instead she figured she could pin it on him finding out he was a bastard and being angry with his father for not telling him. Perhaps if Balgruuf became more up front with his youngest, that alone would help improve Nelkir’s disposition. The departure of the Ebony Blade would help the most, though they could never know.

 

The inn was thrumming with more activity than when she’d last left it, the bard playing lively tunes and the mead flowing like water. The same creepy man in black robes still sat there, and she intentionally gave him a wide berth as she ordered a bottle of Honningbrew Mead and took it to stand in a corner, hoping he would stay where he was instead of approach her.

 

The odd man kept his distance, but an older Nord woman - who looked slightly drunk, herself - couldn’t help but throw out, “Want to hear a little Nord wisdom? You don’t really know a woman ’til you’ve had a strong drink and a fistfight with her.”

 

Shelvani cocked her eyebrow at her, the woman obviously not knowing who she was flexing at. “Is that so?” she said simply, taking a long swig of mead.

 

The woman snorted. “Think you can go blade to blade with me? You’d be dead in six seconds.”

 

“You want to put some money on that?” Shelvani spat, throwing down a small purse of 100 septims to tempt her. If this played out like she thought it might, she could complete her next objective as well as draw a little blood.

 

“And why not? I could beat anyone in this city, bare-handed.” She stood, throwing her own purse down to accept the challenge. “Just fists, no weapons, no magic … and no crying. Let’s go!”

 

Shelvani set down her drink and brought up her fists, smirking as she thought back to her hand to hand lessons she’d taken with one of her Khajiit mercenary friends. He’d always believed that being without a weapon was no excuse, and that one should be able to fight and defend themselves no matter what the circumstances. Before Shelvani had ever been trained in the bow or blade work, her Khajiit master had put her through the ropes in learning hand to hand combat, wanting the young Dunmer to be prepared. This Nord didn’t know that, however, and it was her ignorance - and her drunkenness - that would lead to her downfall.

 

The fight itself was far too short for Shelvani to enjoy. The Nord had actually managed to draw blood when her steel plate gauntlet made contact with her mouth, but she’d paid in back in kind by bloodying her nose. She didn’t last long after that, the lithe Dunmer beating her into submission despite the encouragement from the other patrons of the inn. After the excitement was over and the crowd dispersed, Shelvani collected the purses as payment, wiping her mouth and taking a swig of mead as she tucked them away in her satchel. The Nord woman approached her and introduced herself as Uthgerd, stating, “That was the best fight in years, you definitely earned that coin.” She went to return to her seat, but paused and added, “You ever need another blade at your side, just ask. Wouldn’t mind seeing how you handle a few trolls.”

 

Shelvani’s smile grew dark, her plan coming to fruition. This was what she needed, and she jumped at the chance. “Follow me, then, I plan on leaving Whiterun in the morning.”

 

She nodded. “Let me go gather a few supplies from my house and I’ll join you.”

 

Shelvani sat down at the table that Uthgerd had previously been occupying and ordered a second bottle of Honningbrew mead. This had unfolded perfectly, and now she not only had someone to feed to the Ebony Blade, but she had someone to assist her with the next step. The next step, which would take place at the Sacellum of Boethiah.


	3. A Betrayal in Ebony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter and so close to the end! Just wanted to note that, instead of the Ebony Mail, I replaced that with the Ritual Armor of Boethiah, which is a modded armor you can get after you complete Boethiah's quest. I just like it a lot more than the Ebony Mail itself. Pictures for reference at the bottom, if you're curious as to what it looks like! Personally, it's one of my favourite armors.

The Nord Mead in Candlehearth Hall tasted a little more bitter than she remembered, but the Dunmer mercenary tossed it back all the same. After a point, the taste didn’t even matter anyway. Shelvani just wanted to get sufficiently sloshed so she could pass out for the night, nothing more.

 

It had been over a month since she had left Whiterun with Uthgerd. Forty days, to be exact. She could have just taken her straight to the Sacelllum, but that would have seemed just a little suspicious to the Nord warrior, she was sure. There could be no room for error in this, and she wasn’t going to chance a new companion being wary of a request she made when that request was so very critical to the overall plan. No, instead the pair had been traipsing about Skyrim, clearing out bandit nests here, exploring caves there. She almost shuddered when she remembered the Falmer cave they had just barely survived only last week. Uthgerd had almost fallen there, and she would have if not for Shelvani’s quick draw on the bow and knowledge of healing spells. It was then that she believed Uthgerd truly thought they were bonded, which meant it was time. Time for the Nord woman to fulfill her destiny on Shelvani’s own personal quest of reverence.

 

After they had finally pulled each other out of that _pit_ , they had made for a hold capitol, wanting to rest after that ordeal. Winterhold was a little closer, but Windhelm had far more resources, and so they had struck out for the capitol of Eastmarch, pausing only briefly for a respite when they were about halfway to their destination. The city had been welcoming enough for the pair, though Shelvani had gotten some odd stares in Candlehearth Hall. The staring patrons no doubt were wondering why she hadn’t stuck to the New Gnisis club in the Grey Quarter, _with her own kind_ , but they were obviously not brave enough to put words to their thoughts. Not in front of her, at least. Perhaps since she traveled with a Nord it made things a little smoother as well, but she didn’t put much thought to it. She had paid for rooms for both herself and her companion for a week, with a little extra to ensure good service, and the innkeeper had been nothing but hospitable since. She likely hadn’t seen anyone drop a chunk of change like that at once. The thought had made Shelvani smile. _Oh you poor dear, you have no idea_ … what she had dropped was a mere pittance to her, nothing compared to the gold she had stashed away in banks and even in her own house in Bravil. Hell, her armor and weapons individually cost more than she’d paid. Money held little meaning for Shelvani anymore. What did, however, was the blade at her back, the blade that practically vibrated every time she drew it, hoping for blood to spill. She hadn’t yet fulfilled Mephala’s orders, but she would soon enough. Soon it would taste the blood of deceit.

 

Uthgerd suddenly appeared at the table, slapping Shelvani a little harder than necessary on the back before she sat down, cup in hand. The Dunmer tried not to roll her eyes or sigh irritatingly. She would be lying if she said she would miss the Nord. She was competent enough in battle, but her grating, overbearing personality was annoying. It was as if she was trying too hard to prove that she was strong and worthy. In Shelvani’s experience, blade work spoke for itself, and Uthgerd’s was merely satisfactory. She wouldn’t have lasted long in the mercenary group Shelvani had been a part of for much of her youth. Despite all of her bravado, she was very sensitive and tended to lash out when she thought she was being criticized, even when the criticism was valid and helpful. The Dunmer had even tried, herself, to give her some helpful tips, but she had refused all help, and so Shelvani had left her alone. The mercenary couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

 

She still had to go about this a bit carefully, however, so as to not draw any kind of suspicion. When the Nord woman had settled at the table across from her, she spoke, “I have found something interesting to investigate.”

 

“Oh? I hope it’s a damn site better than that cave we just _investigated_.”

 

Shelvani was tempted to glare daggers at her, but outwardly she brushed off the comment. “It’s not a cave. It’s some sort of encampment, just east of here.”

 

“Bandits?”

 

She shook her head. “Not likely. But there may still be a fight yet.”

 

Uthgerd smiled. “Well that’s what I like to hear!” She downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. “When do we leave?”

 

Shelvani smiled at her eagerness, her naïveté at what she was being strung along for. “In the morning.”

 

Despite the amount that she’d drank, Shelvani woke up the next morning clear-headed and alert, ready for action. Uthgerd was obviously hung over and attempting to hide it, with little success. That was yet another reason she would be glad to be rid of her, Uthgerd didn’t understand her own limits when it came to _anything_ , alcohol included. Shelvani despised being her babysitter when she’d had too much to drink and couldn’t even make it to her bed to pass out. After this last mission, she wouldn’t have to worry about finding her bed ever again, and that made Shelvani smile.

 

Uthgerd didn’t understand it. “Why the smile? What’s so good about the morning?” she grumbled.

 

That only made Shelvani’s smile deepen. _Oh you’ll see soon enough …_ “It is a glorious morning, why shouldn’t it be?” she said aloud, motioning to the colourful sky that was brightening with the sun’s rise.

 

“Looks more like a morning I’d rather sleep through.”

 

Shelvani didn’t suppress the urge to roll her eyes this time, though Uthgerd was trailing along behind her and couldn’t see it. After they left through the main gate, the Dunmer paused for a moment, taking out her map. She’d marked the location on it, and now she used her finger to trace the most direct route. After waiting for this for so long, she was getting antsy at the prospect of convening with Boethiah. It made her nervous, more so than when she had communicated with Mephala for some reason, but she calmed her nerves when she reminded herself of why she was doing this, of why she was tying herself to these Princes. They had never led her people wrong when they were followed, she knew that they wouldn’t let her down now.

 

Once she had selected a route, she showed the map to Uthgerd. The Nord woman seemed disinterested at best, wanting only to follow along and try to clear her head in the cool morning air. Shelvani hoped she would enjoy the view, as it would be the last she would ever see.

 

Uthgerd complained most of the way, between her aching body and her mind that was still slightly woozy from last night’s drink. They had to pause more than once so that she could empty her stomach by the side of the road, and Shelvani tried to feign concern at her traveling companion. She wasn’t sure if she was entirely successful, but Uthgerd made no mention of it, which meant that her overly sensitive nature hadn’t picked up on the way Shelvani had sighed with impatience and irritation and only on the way she had held back her hair. This companionship could not end soon enough for Shelvani.

 

The Nord warrior did stop her groaning one time, when they had almost reached the summit of the small mountain and the full view of the land of Skyrim was on display. She had stopped and gaped in awe, somehow surprised that her homeland was as beautiful as it was. If she could have kept herself from as much drink and her head out of her ass, perhaps she could have reveled in the beauty before now. But there were many things that Uthgerd could have done that she hadn’t, and Shelvani supposed it was a bit poetic to end things where they were.

 

The followers of Boethiah that were camped at the base of the Sacellum made little motion to notice them as they approached. Shelvani had visited them months earlier, when she was still researching and learning, curious and hungry for knowledge. The priestess had explained what she would need to do in order to appease Boethiah, and because of this they said nothing to her and her companion as they passed. They understood what Shelvani was here to do, they wouldn’t tip her hand too early lest they themselves draw the wrath of their Daedric Prince.

 

Uthgerd was perhaps understandably a little wary as she kept her weapon drawn, as if she was anticipating them pouncing when their guard was relaxed. “Why do you think they’re ignoring us?” she whispered to Shelvani.

 

“Perhaps we are not important to them,” she replied. “There are only two of us, what threat could we possibly pose?”

 

“We’ve taken out more bandits at once than this number,” Uthgerd hissed.

 

“But they don’t know that, do they?” Shelvani shot back, silencing her. Uthgerd had nothing to say to that, but she still looked wary as they climbed the steps that would take them to the statue that stood there, erected in Boethiah’s honour.

 

As she cleared the last step, Shelvani looked up at the statue in awe. It was big and it was intimidating and it was everything she’d thought it would be and more. The first time she had visited the encampment, she had purposefully not visited this part of it, wanting to reserve her first glance for when she was about to sacrifice her victim. She was glad she had waited, for it gave the moment the needed gravitas for her. As she gazed upon Boethiah’s visage it seemed like the rest of the world hushed. The wind calmed down and they could barely hear the sparring adherents just below them. It was as if it was an entire world unto itself.

 

Shelvani hadn’t even been aware Uthgerd had been speaking to her until she felt a nudge. The Nord woman didn’t understand who this statue represented, but she knew that it was important. “Who is that?” she asked.

 

Shelvani resisted the urge to tell her just yet, her eyes glancing instead upon the pillar of sacrifice in the center. “Uthgerd, do me a favour and inspect that pillar, will you? It may hold the answers we seek.”

 

If she had asked this of her when they first started traveling together, Uthgerd would have been far more hesitant. Their time spent together had paid off, however, as she didn’t pause for even a moment before she stepped towards the pillar. She cocked her head and raised a hand to try to trace some of the details engraved on it when she suddenly found herself pulled against it by an unknown force, pinned with her back against it and her hands at her sides, paralyzed. She yelled out for her companion, but found the mercenary looking only at her, her long, wicked blade drawn. She had not drawn her blade before now, and the Nord looked at her fearfully, at the evil gleam that rested in her red eyes. “This is the Sacellum of Boethiah,” she replied. “May your sacrifice aid me in my quest.”

 

Uthgerd cried out in alarm, begging for mercy, but found none. The Ebony Blade thrummed excitedly in her hand, stilling only when it rested deep within Uthgerd’s gut. A trill went through Shelvani’s body, a shiver of excitement, of fulfillment. She had done it, finally, she had coated the blade in the blood of betrayal, exactly what Mephala had commanded her to do. She felt a bit lightheaded as she pulled the blade out of Uthgerd, spilling more blood on the ground around her. The Dunmer shivered slightly at the sight of what she’d done. It wasn’t her first kill, but it was her first kill _with purpose_. She would never forget it.

 

She was startled when suddenly, Uthgerd’s body, which had fallen to the ground, suddenly stood up. Shelvani went to raise the Ebony Blade in alarm, but paused when it began speaking in a hissing, thin voice that definitely did not belong to the Nord warrior. “Ahhhh. Wearing flesh is so … distasteful. Regardless, you have caught my attention, mortal. That is unusual, potentially unwise for yourself. Tell me, why have you slain this one who trusted you here upon my shrine?”

 

_Boethiah_. Shelvani trembled slightly as she replied, “My reasons are my own.” Truly, she wanted to gain Boethiah’s favour, however she knew that had she come out and said it, the Daedric Prince would have scoffed at her. The Princes didn’t want a slave for a champion, they wanted someone strong who could act on their own, without direction. Too much boot licking was disdainful.

 

“Indeed,” the manifestation replied. “But I abide only those whose will is aligned with my own. Those who oppose my desires perish in the most dreadful of ways.”

 

Shelvani steeled herself against the threat. “I’m not afraid.”

 

“Is that so? You should be. Though a heart without fear is something I can use … perhaps you _are_ the one I seek. We shall soon find out.” The Dunmer didn’t have a chance to reply when Boethiah’s manifestation suddenly spoke so loudly that it felt like it shook the mountains around them. “Listen, all of you! Hear me! I have need of a warrior. Only the most ruthless, cunning, and agile will do. You have gathered here night after night, sacrificing fools upon my shrine and sparring aimlessly with yourself. But which among you truly exceeds the rest? Prove yourselves to me! I have a special task for whichever of you is left standing.”

 

_Shit_. Shelvani hadn’t been counting on fighting here, but she gripped the Ebony Blade tightly as a nearby cultist went to rush her with a battle-axe. She dodged the obvious telegraphed strike and plunged the blade into their gut, shoving them off as soon as they’d sunk to the hilt, readying for the next attack. A rather foolish, brash young man brandishing a dagger attempted to fight her, but she easily slit his throat with the end of her blade before he even got close. Blood spurted from the wound as he fell to the ground, his dagger falling from his grip as he attempted to stem the flow, to no avail. He expired soon after he fell.

 

They had been the only followers that were up near the statue when Boethiah had issued the order. The rest had been down at the regular base camp, and from the sounds of fighting it seemed to be a free for all down there. Shelvani could have run down the stairs and joined the fray, but she decided to be a bit more practical. Instead, she grabbed her bow and crouched on top of the rocks near the statue, taking aim and sniping off some of the fighters one by one. She even managed to impress herself as she caught one directly in the eye. That one was dead before their body even fell. Their opponent stood there for a moment, confused, but decided to try to take advantage of the situation and attack someone else. They were not quick enough in their decision making, as they were stabbed from behind by another cultist. Because of their numbers, Shelvani went mostly unnoticed as she continued to pick them off one by one, until the few remaining grew smart and started to charge up the stairs to her position. She managed to knock off one before they ascended to her position, but she wasn’t quick enough on the draw to take down more and soon she had two pissed off cultists bearing down on her.

 

She managed to wound one in the leg as he tried to rush her, which at least slowed him down and gave her the chance to draw the Ebony Blade and prepare to defend herself. The other, who duel-wielded swords, tried to knock aside her long blade in order to get closer to her. Shelvani didn’t fall for it, however, using the opportunity to spin around and catch the other off guard, sinking the blade in between her ribs. She gasped for breath as she fell, as her lungs had been run through, but she could do nothing but choke on her own blood as Shelvani launched an attack on the remaining cultist, disarming him of his axe before she drove the blade through his throat and out the back of his head, severing his spine. He twitched as she withdrew the blade and fell, blood leaking out onto the otherwise pristine snow, painting the ground red.

 

Shelvani stood there for a moment, trying to catch her breath as suddenly the manifestation of Boethiah claimed a random cultist and said, “Well done. You have proven the strength of your will and your tongue’s gift for lies. You have shown ferocity and prowess in combat. And now the time has come for a final proving. Are you able to cast aside your honour and strike with the hidden blade?”

 

The Dunmer smirked. If only Boethiah knew some of the jobs she’d pulled over the years, the Daedric Prince would have known the answer. “Honour is a coward’s tool.”

 

“An astute observation. Skyrim is a beautiful and harsh mistress, but her people cling to such a petty notion of honour.” The Prince scoffed, pausing before they continued. “My previous champion displeases me. It is time he is replaced … in the traditional fashion.”

 

“Who is he?” Shelvani asked, eager to complete the task at hand.

 

“I am loath to utter his name. One cannot erase a thing if it has a name to be remembered.”

 

Fair enough. Truly, his name didn’t matter. The only thing that needed to be known about him is that he was a dead man walking. “Where can I find him, then?”

 

“He is holed up at Knifepoint Ridge, where he plays king to bandits and highwaymen.”

 

_Ugh._ Shelvani despised bandits. They were no more than mercenaries who couldn’t hack it in the game, either unable or simply too incompetent to finish contracted jobs, reduced to raiding and stealing from travelers. They were scum, and she was more than happy to do away with however many of them she could. “Say no more, he’s as good as dead,” Shelvani replied flatly, disgust clear in her voice.

 

“Kill every single member of his band,” Boethiah directed. “Do so as silently and invisibly as you can, for this is not about you. You are to be my instrument in this. Slay him in the coldest of blood. Do not give him the dignity of defending himself. Once his corpse lays cold upon the ground, and all trace of his followers are erased, retrieve my Ritual Armor and don it yourself. It is a gift fit only for my true champion.”

 

Shelvani descended the steps towards the base camp in a slight daze. Bodies lay all around her, some felled by her own hand, some by others. The stink of their death would take some time to manifest, given the cold and frozen tundra they had fallen in, but once it did she did not want to be anywhere near this place. She doubted even the walls of Windhelm could keep out the stench they would generate. She kicked aside one of the bodies and sat by one of their fires, recovering from the battle. A bucket sat nearby and she used it to gather what snow wasn’t stained with blood and sat it near the flames to melt. She didn’t see much in the way of water at the camp, and she needed to clean up before she did anything else.

 

As she waited, she pulled out her map. She had briefly heard of Knifepoint Ridge before, but she couldn’t remember where it was. It took several minutes of looking but she finally located it, groaning as she realized it was all the way over in Falkreath Hold, west of Lake Ilinalta. She could take a carriage to Falkreath and hike from there, but it was still quite the distance to travel, especially when she just wanted to rush out and kill the champion and get this all over with. She took a deep breath, calming herself, practicing patience. She had come so far and waited so long already, surely waiting a little longer wouldn’t be too bad. Besides, after this, she had to visit the Shrine of Azura, which was all the way up by Winterhold, an even further journey than this. She could manage.

 

When the snow was melted into water, she removed a few pieces of her armor and gave herself a spot bath as well as cleaning off the blood that coated her hands and had splattered on her face. There were a few flecks in her hair as well, but her hair’s red colour masked them well enough so that they went unnoticed. She would take a proper bath later, for now she would rest and then catch a carriage. The one outside Windhelm was the closest, and she endeavored to aim for it as soon as she got up from her nap.

 

She slept longer than she’d planned, but her exhaustion was greater than she’d thought and the sleep roll she’d grabbed in one of the tents was so warm that she slept the rest of the day and well into the night. Masser and Secunda were high in the sky when she finally woke, startled at the darkness surrounding her. She stoked the fire a bit for some light and quickly gathered her things, making a torch to help guide her way as she hiked back down the mountain and back to Windhelm. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long, and the moons were well into their retreat when she finally approached the stables outside Windhelm. The carriage was still there, thankfully, and its driver was tending to the horses, attaching feed bags before he hoisted himself up on the bench. Shelvani approached him and dropped enough coins in his hand to take her to Falkreath before she climbed in the back, internally sighing as she prepared for the long, bumpy journey.

 

Shelvani’s rear was incredibly sore as they finally pulled up outside of the hold capitol. She slowly got down from the cart and tipped the driver, making her way into the local inn to get a room and recoup before she went after Boethiah’s champion. She was in no shape to take on a mine full of bandits, but by the next day she would be. The Imperial woman behind the counter of Dead Man’s Drink eagerly sold her a room and provided her with the means to bathe. She would eat later, for now she desperately needed to rid herself of the stink of battle. Once closed off in the privacy of her room, she stripped and slowly lowered herself into the heated water, feeling her muscles relax as she reached for the provided soap to wash her hair and body with. She didn’t dally as long as she would have liked to, knowing she needed to redress and eat and get some sleep so she could be up and ready to take on the bandits. Before she went to bed that night, she conditioned her armor and set it out, ready to go when she awoke, which between her soreness and the mead she’d drank to try to rid herself of said soreness, would be a while.

 

It would take at least an hour or so to hike over to the camp, and Shelvani was in no hurry to get there immediately in the morning. There were pros and cons when it came to the exact time of going about taking out a hold of bandits, but ultimately if enough surprise was taken, the time of day didn’t matter. Better to be well rested than to try to use the cloak of impending dawn to strike. What secrecy could be gathered from hiding in the plenteous shadows was undone if the person was not focused enough to let their arrows fly true.

 

As such, it was well into the afternoon when Shelvani finally woke, rested and ready to take on the task at hand. She ate a quick meal at the inn before she set off, hiking first to the lake so she could use it as a reference as she moved west. It took her over an hour to arrive at the camp, but that was mostly because she moved stealthily, not wanting to inadvertently alert them to her presence. She’d pulled her hood over her head and even moved her scarf over her mouth and nose, blocking out as much of herself as she could, making herself a mere shadow. Nocturnal herself would have been proud at the way she snuck up on the edge of camp, ducking behind a rock, setting up her targets before she strung her bow. One by one, all of the bandits outside fell. A few of them became alerted to the presence of _someone_ taking them out, but they ran in all sorts of directions, weapons out, clueless about where the threat was coming from until Shelvani landed an arrow in their head or their chest. Once they all lay dead, she slipped silently into the mine itself, keeping an eye out for other bandits that littered the twisting, hewn hallways. One stood at an alchemy table and she dropped the Khajiit with a knife to the throat, dropping them without a sound. She moved on and almost messed up when she accidentally bumped into a pile of logs, spilling them. She thought quickly and, as a few bandits rounded on her position, she fired an arrow at a hanging lantern, dropping it onto the oily floor just as they rounded the corner, their momentum too high to stop before they were plunged into flames. She quickly took them out as they were distracted by the burning, and she waited for the fire to die out before she made her way forward again. There were only a few still scattered around the large, open space that she crept into, and they were easily taken out without a sound by her arrows. Now all that was left was the champion, himself.

 

By process of elimination, she ascertained he was up in a makeshift hut at the top of a ramp. She didn’t like that she had no cover as she made her way up, but she went as quickly as stealth would allow, hoping that he wouldn’t choose _that moment_ to exit and see the dark figure ascending. Whether it was her skills that didn’t alert him to anything amiss or simply luck, she didn’t know, but he stayed put. She creeped slowly into the doorway to see his back turned as he was bent over at a desk, reading something. She drew her dagger and slipped behind him, not hesitating for a second as she slit his throat. He died without ever even seeing her face.

 

Shelvani smiled as his body fell, hunched at her feet, pride at her handiwork rising within her. This was not a victory she could personally claim, according to Boethiah, but she was proud she had accomplished such a feat regardless, even if she was the only one who could know about it. What she was puzzled about, however, was that Boethiah had said that she would get the Ritual Armor that the champion wore, but the champion had several inches and at least a hundred pounds on her, if not more. She carefully took off the armor, though, willing to fulfill every part of the contract as she loosened and pulled until she’d finally taken every piece off and left him naked on the floor. The armor was dark and scaly, save for the tips and part of the mask, which looked like a tarnished gold. As she held it in her hands, it was clearly too big for her, but she shrugged and stripped off her own armor anyway, pulling on the new armor as requested. To her surprise, as she pulled it on and adjusted it, it suddenly molded to her shape, fitting her as if it had been made specifically for her. She smiled as she tied back the mask before finally pulling on the helmet, completing her transformation into Boethiah’s new champion.

 

This time, Boethiah did not take a specific form, but she heard her voice regardless. “You have done well, my champion. You have earned my respect, a feat few manage and live to tell about. I shall write your name upon the Tablet of Absolute Darkness, and you may keep my Ritual Armor, a token of your talents. Now go. I have strings to pull that require my full attention. You may pursue your own course wherever it leads you. Remember always this: as you will, so it shall be.”

 

And with that, Boethiah’s presence disappeared, though not entirely, Shelvani felt. The enchantments on the armor tingled against her skin, and she smiled as she flexed her fingers in the gloves. Two down, one to go.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

         


	4. Twilight's First Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, and the end of Shelvani's journey. It was wonderful playing this out and it was just as wonderful writing it all down. Perhaps I'll do some more short role-plays in the future! Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. :) At the end, I've attached a picture of Shelvani, a screenshot I took where she isn't wearing the mask or helmet so you can see her face, just as a thank you of sorts. :) Twilight guide you.

Shelvani’s breath hung in the cold morning air, shivering as she drew her cloak close around her. She was forever thankful that the Ritual Armor had a mask as well as a helmet, as it proved much warmer than just the hood that she normally wore. She could feel her condensing breath start to crystallize on her eyelashes and she paused a moment to wipe them free of the frost before it froze any further. It wouldn’t do to have her eyes frozen shut.

 

She had set out from Winterhold after spending a night in The Frozen Hearth, aptly named because the inn seemed permanently chilled, the cold air permeating no matter how hot the fire was stoked. She hadn’t even removed her armor to sleep in, preferring the warm layers of leather to the thin cloth of her sleep clothes. She didn’t know how the local town residents withstood it, but the Nords here seemed to be of the hardy archetype of their race, going on about their lives as if the biting cold was nothing more than a slight chill.

 

The Dunmer took care as she ascended the slope, almost losing her foot more than once in the slick snowfall. She saw her goal in the distance, however, and she was close to the end now. No going back. After she’d taken the Ritual Armor from Boethiah’s former champion, she had not tarried long in Falkreath. She’d made a beeline for Whiterun, the closest city with a carriage, and hired him to take her to Winterhold. It was certainly easier than hiking the whole way, and much cheaper than buying a horse. Years ago she had thought about buying one to make her mercenary work easier, but discovered that they more than likely got in one’s way while fighting, either jumping in front of their owner’s blade by mistake or being too brash in their attacks and getting cut down by taking on more than they could handle. Only the most elite war horses were efficient in battle, and Shelvani didn’t have that kind of time or patience for the training.

 

She finally reached the edge of the stairs, where the stone steps were buried in the snow. They probably extended more than it showed now, but the snow and ice covered the very bottom of it. No matter, Shelvani had finally reached it, and ascended the steps one by one, each step taking her closer to the base of the Shrine of Azura. She wasn’t sure what exactly she would find there, but she knew her path for Azura would start here.

 

Shelvani was slightly surprised to see another Dunmer as she cleared the last set of steps, a priestess who worshipped there. She hadn’t been expecting someone to be there, but somehow she knew this was meant to happen, that she was meant to meet this priestess, that she would help her on her quest. The priestess turned as she approached and smiled as she greeted her, “Azura has seen your coming, traveler. It was not curiousity, but fate that has lead you here.”

 

Her heart trilled in realization that this priestess had been _preparing_ to meet her here. “Seen my coming? What do you mean?”

 

“Azura has given me the gift of foresight. I had a vision of you walking up the steps to this altar years ago. You have been chosen to be her champion. I know it is unexpected, but do not worry. It will all unfold as she has predicted.”

 

It seemed the priestess had been preparing for someone who was clueless as to the machinations of the Daedric Princes. However, this only confirmed to Shelvani that she was indeed on the right path. She needed only to complete this one quest in order to fulfill her offerings to the three Daedric Princes that had lead her people, and thus bring their guidance into her life, restoring balance. “What does Azura bid me to do?”

 

The priestess seemed pleased that she seemingly accepted her fate without question. “You must go to a fortress, endangered by water yet untouched by it. Inside you will find an elven mage who can turn the brightest star as black as night.” She smirked as she added, “It’s cryptic, I know, but Azura’s signs are never wrong. I believe the fortress may refer to Winterhold. There is a college there, you may ask if they know of this elven enchanter.”

 

That wasn’t much to go on, and Shelvani sighed at the though of hiking all the way back to Winterhold, but so be it. “I shall do so, then.”

 

“Twilight guide your path,” the priestess said as she bid her goodbye.

 

Shelvani couldn’t help the grumbles as she made her way back down the path that she’d just taken to get here. She would likely be spending another damn night in the asshole of Tamriel that felt more akin to Atmora than the rest of the continent. The sun was firmly on it’s way to the western horizon as she finally made it back to the the outskirts of the pitiful hold capitol. It had been much bigger and grander, however the calamity of The Great Collapse had destroyed much of the city, sending it into the sea and leaving the rest of the city in shambles. The College of Winterhold was the only thing that had remained untouched, and she figured that was where her search would start, but first she needed a drink and a chance to try to warm up.

 

The Frozen Hearth’s fire pit was burning brightly, but its warmth only did so much to cut the chill in the air. Keeping her cloak wrapped around her, she sat at a table and ordered a bottle of mead, intending to rest a moment and get her wits about her before she figured out just how she was going to gain entrance to the College with only a bit of restoration knowledge at her disposal. She knew some restoration magic simply because she never wanted to be caught unawares and without health potions, and it had saved her ass quite a few times in the past. She doubted her limited skills would be considered for a serious applicant, however. As she sipped on the bottle, movement caught her eye, and she looked over to see an Altmer mage talking with a Winterhold resident. She wasn’t close enough to hear their conversation, but it suddenly struck her that perhaps she didn’t need to enter the College after all …

 

After his conversation with the rude Nord was over, Shelvani slinked over to him, removing her mask and helmet first in order to appear a bit more trustworthy than someone who didn’t show their face. He looked at her with an expression of exasperation as he said, “I don’t deal with any College applicants these days, so don’t bother asking.”

 

She quirked an eyebrow, taking a sip of mead to curb her sharp tongue before it got her in trouble. She couldn’t afford to lose this contact, and so she took the conversation in a different direction as soon as she swallowed the sweet alcohol. “I’m not a College applicant, I’m looking for an elven mage who studies stars.”

 

Shelvani hadn’t known if asking him would prove to be a bust or not, but he actually seemed a bit suspicious as he asked, “Who sent you? Was it the College? The Jarl? We agreed there would be no more questions.”

 

Questions? About what? This was getting very interesting for just a quick break at an inn. She narrowed her eyes as she projected her presence onto him, utilizing the intimidation techniques she’d been taught by her mercenary mentors. “ _I_ didn’t agree to anything. Talk.”

 

He jumped, surprised at the change in her tone and stammered, “J-Just calm down. I’ll tell you everything.” He took a deep breath as he asked, “What do you know about soul gems?”

 

Yet another unexpected line of conversation, but Shelvani followed it by replied, “They’re for enchanting, correct?”

 

“Yes, they are, except the gem is always consumed. They’re frail and only good for one use … except one.” She simply waited, allowing the Altmer mage to continue the conversation at his own pace, and so he did. “Azura’s Star is a Daedric artifact that allows any number of souls to pass through it. Some of us wanted to find out _how_. I was working under Malyn Varen then.” He shook his head. “If only we knew what he was really planning.”

 

“What did Malyn do?”

 

“Malyn wanted to alter the Star. He … he was dying slowly from disease. He thought he could store his own soul inside and become immortal, but the whole thing drove him mad. Students started dying suspiciously and eventually the College exiled him. He took a few loyal disciples to Ilinalta’s Deep and vanished.”

 

She groaned at the prospect of having to return _once again_ to Falkreath hold, but as she was turning away, the Atlmer grabbed her arm. She shot him a glare. “What?”

 

“Look, I don’t care who asked you to find the Star, but don’t take it back to Azura. The Daedra are evil, _they’re_ the reason Malyn went insane in the first place! If you find it, bring it back to me and I will help you cleanse it.”

 

She jerked her arm away from the mage. Insulting the Daedric Princes that had guided and taught her people for years was not the way to get on her good side. Even if she hadn’t been planning on bringing it back to Azura anyway, she definitely wasn’t going to go back to this haughty Altmer now. Had he not considered that Malyn’s disease had driven him insane? Or a side-effect of its treatment? Azura was one of the few good Daedra, and she wouldn’t be swayed from becoming her champion. “I will go where I please,” she spat back at the mage, turning toward the counter to pay for one more night before she hiked off in search of a carriage to take her back to Falkreath.

 

Bright and early the next morning, she set off to Windhelm yet again. It was, of course, the closest city with a carriage available to hire, and so once again she would visit it. She was growing quite sick of Eastmarch hold, but with any luck she wouldn’t stay there much longer. After all this was over and done with, she would likely leave Skyrim for a good long while. Where she would go, she wasn’t quite sure yet, whether she would seek adventure elsewhere or go back home to Bravil for a time. She would decide on a course of action when she arrived at the crossroads, but for now she focused only on making it to Windhelm’s stables.

 

The carriage driver seemed to be quickly becoming acquainted with her, as she had barely started to approach him when he asked, “Looking for a ride, again?”

 

She smirked as she already had the gold ready. “Now how did you know?”

 

He chuckled as he held out his palm for the coins. “Just a feeling. Where to this time?”

 

“Falkreath again.”

 

“Long journey _again_? Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed to visit a milder climate this time of year.”

 

Shelvani let out a long sigh as she climbed back into his cart for yet another long, bumpy journey into Falkreath. She really hoped this was the last time she would have to take this road in a long time, it was not the easiest even taking a carriage. She rested as much as she could on the journey, as she didn’t want to waste too much time once she got into Falkreath, but her ass was as sore as ever when they pulled up to the forest city. _Ugh_. She was going to need another soak so she could get up early and get this over with, which thankfully the innkeeper was more than happy to oblige her with.

 

The sun had barely peaked over the horizon by the time Shelvani left Dead Man’s Drink, striking out for the lake to find the fortress that the Altmer mage had spoken of. She hadn’t found it on her map, however considering its name it was a safe bet that it was somewhere around Lake Ilinalta.

 

It took her half a day before she finally stumbled upon the crumbled fortress that she was sure was her destination. It was the only place around the lake that she had found aside from a mill, so it had to be it. It was partially sunk, so she carefully stepped around the deceptively deep pools that surrounded portions of it before she finally spotted a trap door that surely lead inside. Sinking into a crouching position, she slowly moved forward and opened it, cautiously entering the fort, not knowing quite what to expect.

 

In anticipation of trouble, she drew her bow, readying herself in case those followers that the mage had mentioned still lingered. She carefully picked her way around the crumbling stone, keeping her senses sharp. It was a painstakingly slow process, but it was unwise to rush into an unknown situation when one could easily become overwhelmed. Despite the fact that they didn’t typically wear armor, mages could still pose a great danger, especially in numbers. Ones that specialized in destruction could throw flames, ice, and lightning at their opponents, their effects obvious. Conjuration mages could conjure familiars or atronachs - or, in worst case scenarios, dremora lords - to fight for them. Illusion mages could mess with an opponent’s mind, either opening them up for attack or, at worst, permanently impairing them so that they were either a vegetable or completely mad. Shelvani shuddered as she pondered the possibilities, hoping that she wouldn’t encounter too many of them, if any at all.

 

Thankfully, there wasn’t a great number of them in the fort, and she was able to get the drop on most of them, sending an arrow through their hearts before they even knew she was there. A few actually did detect her, but the most one was able to get off was a sweeping ice attack before her arrow found it’s target. The ice attack did hit her, but she was able to recover after spending a few minutes crouched, breathing deeply to regain her composure. She was beginning to wonder just how vast this fort was as she was winding her way up the large staircase, hoping that this was where her search ended.

 

Her guard was high as she entered the room, though it was for nothing as no one occupied it. No one alive, that is. The skeletal body of a mage sat on a chair, thankfully no longer smelling of death. She approached cautiously, figuring this must be the body of Malyn Varen, and she retrieved the Star. There was something … off about the artifact. She wasn’t sure what it was but she knew that this was not Azura’s Star, at least not as it had been. She was a little disappointed, however she knew that the priestess would have answers for her.

 

Now she just had to return to her.

 

She didn’t let the thought of the long journey ahead of her discourage her. Instead, she simply kept her goal in mind: Whiterun. She did not wish to camp in the wilds when alone, and Whiterun was the closest city with a carriage. She could have immediately taken the carriage to Winterhold and rested there, but she wished to be somewhere that wasn’t as cold as Molag Bal’s asshole for the night. It was a bit of a hike to get to the hold city, but when she saw the lights in the distance she knew it would be worth it. She was on the last legs of her journey now, she deserved to take a day and rest. Especially since it was the middle of the night by the time she passed through the gates.

 

The Bannered Mare didn’t have many guests at this hour, but the few they had were rowdy. Shelvani didn’t mind, she knew that she would be able to sleep regardless of the noise. Hulda graciously rented her a room and she retired immediately, not even ordering anything other than a bottle of mead to drink before she slept.

 

The next day, she took off and enjoyed herself, the first real break she’d had since starting this personal quest. She needed a day to rest and recoup before the final leg. First things first, she ordered some warm bath water from Hulda and bathed thoroughly, cleaning and conditioning her armor as well. She dressed simply in a white tunic and brown pants, securing only her dagger at her waist with her thick belt. After locking her room, she left to visit the town. She did need to pick up a few health potions at the apothecary, but after that it was all vanity shopping. Warmaidens had a nice supply of arrows, and although she wasn’t running low, taking out the mages had dwindled her supply somewhat and she was of the opinion that one could never have too many arrows. Belethor’s store didn’t really have much that was interesting, but the shop keeper chatted her up and was entertaining enough that she decided to buy a couple of books off of him. _The Cabin in the Woods_ promised to be a quick, entertaining read, and _Daughter of the Niben_ actually concerned her home base city of Bravil, and so she picked it up, intrigued by the history of the city that she so often called home, and yet so rarely lived in nowadays. Perhaps after she finished this quest, perhaps then she could settle down for a little while and take some time to meditate and figure out the next stage of her life. She just knew that these Daedric Princes would guide her, she just had to quiet her mind and let them.

 

She had a hearty dinner at the inn that night, a pre-celebration of sorts. A nice, thick cut of steak and grilled vegetables along with soft bread and a boiled cream treat to finish it off, along with a couple of bottles of Honingbrew mead, the local specialty. It was sweeter and lighter than the Black-Briar mead found around the Riften area, and while it was something she didn’t feel that she would drink often, it was quite satisfying.

 

The creepy patron in the black robes was _still_ there, somehow. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been camped out there, but he hadn’t approached her since their initial meeting so she figured as long as he left her well enough alone, she would leave him alone. She only had one moment of consternation that evening, and that was when the bard, Mikael, asked about Uthgerd. She had been so startled to be asked about her, she blinked and froze for a moment, prompting him to add, “You know, that brash warrior woman who used to sit in here alone, challenging people to brawls? You had won one and left with her a couple of months ago, was it?”

 

She recovered and replied, “Yes, I remember. We traveled together for a few weeks but we parted after that. She has not returned?”

 

Her feigned concern was convincing and Mikael replied, “No, she has not returned yet. Perhaps she adventures on her own?”

 

Shelvani shrugged. “Perhaps she does. Let us hope that is the case.” Of course, Shelvani knew that right now, her corpse was rotting on the side of the mountain where she’d left it. But she figured it wouldn’t hurt to leave a little mystery. After all, adventurers were killed all the time, it wasn’t wholly implausible that they would part company and she would find death. Eventually, her home would be turned over to the Jarl, who would probably sell it. She didn’t have any family or kin in the area, from what Shelvani remembered, and considering her personality she probably didn’t have any friends, either. No one to question her disappearance, aside from the patrons of the inn, and even then eventually they’d stop asking. They’d know she met her fate somewhere, they’d just never know where and how. Shelvani was perfectly happy leaving it that way.

 

Early the next morning, Shelvani suited up in her armor, gave Hulda a substantial tip, and left the inn for good. She didn’t plan on ever coming back to Whiterun, not for a very long time at least. She didn’t want to face any more questions concerning Uthgerd’s disappearance, and she had no ties to the region as it was. That just made it all the more easier to never return. The carriage driver nodded as he took her gold, slapping the reigns as she got in the cart and directing them onto the road he would take up to Winterhold.

 

It was nighttime by the time they finally arrived, and the Dunmer didn’t think she could make the hike up to the Shrine right then. She hated to stay in the cold inn, but she had no choice as she dropped the coin and bought some heated mead to help her stay warm as she rested for the night.

 

The next day, Shelvani discovered she had slept in far longer than she’d planned. The warmth of the sun must have broken through and heated her room just enough to make it comfortable to sleep. She cursed as readied herself for the hike, eating a quick meal before leaving The Frozen Hearth and setting out on the snow-covered roads. The crunch of snow and ice beneath her feet was the only sounds, save for the whistling of the winds as they occasionally whipped around the rocks off the Sea of Ghosts. It was a lonely road, perhaps fittingly so, and she paused once to observe the stark beauty of the land. It was beautiful in its own way, the white snow ghosting over the dark rocks that dotted the landscape, capped by shining ice. Occasional snowberry bushes provided cover for smaller animals like rabbits and foxes who somehow still survived in this environment. She took it in before she turned back to the path and continued on her way, Azura’s Shrine looming in the distance.

 

The priestess smiled as she saw her returning, greeting her as she ascended the steps. As Shelvani pulled out the prize she’d plucked from Malyn Varen’s skeleton, she priestess gasped and exclaimed, “Azura’s Star! I knew the Lady of Twilight had chosen you for a reason. If you hand it over to me, I will ask Azura to restore the Star to is original purity.”

 

“Here,” Shelvani said as she offered to her.

 

The priestess took it carefully, reverently. “If you’ll give me a moment, I will commune with Azura.” Taking it, she carried it over to the stone table at the base of the Shrine, setting it down in the middle before she took a deep breath and spread her hands, “Azura, Mother of Roses, Goddess of Dusk and Dawn, your chosen champion has returned your Star to you.” The priestess was quiet for a few moments before she turned to Shelvani and said, “She wishes to speak to you, herself. Please, place your hands on the altar and you will hear her voice.”

 

Shelvani’s nerves thrummed within her at the prospect of communing with a third Daedric Prince. One would think she would have been used to this by now, but each time she felt more nervous than she’d been before. She wasn’t sure what she expected when she tentatively rested her palms against the cold surface, but she was pleasantly surprised at the soft, almost maternal voice that sounded in her ears. “Greetings, mortal. You have followed my guidance through the veils of Twilight and rescued my Star from Malyn Varen. But his soul still resides within, protected by enchantments. Until he is purged, my artifact is useless to you.”

 

Her heart dropped, disappointment a mild term to describe the feeling of coming so far and yet being unable to complete the quest she was after. “Are you able to cleanse the Star, my Lady?”

 

“Not as long as it remains in your realm. Eventually, it will fade back into my realm of Oblivion, but I doubt you have the hundred or so years it would take to wait. No, only one option remains for you: I will send you inside the Star and you will banish Malyn’s soul there. Are you ready for this?”

 

Shelvani hadn’t been anticipating anything more than returning the Star to the priestess and having her perform a spell or something to restore it. But she should have figured that her involvement would still be required as the next champion of Azura, and so she took a deep breath as she replied, “I am ready, my Lady.”

 

She could hear the hint of a smile in Azura’s voice as she said, “Have faith, mortal. I will be watching over you.”

 

Suddenly, Shelvani was covered in purple light, unable to see or move as she was pulled into the Star. For that moment, she was completely weightless, and then she felt her feet gently connect with a hard surface. She blinked several times as she tried to bring her eyes into focus, taking in the strange crystalline environment she was currently in. From the initial way it looked, it would be difficult to locate Malyn in this dizzying place. She couldn’t pinpoint a light source, but the way it shone brightly against the glittering surfaces of the sharp crystal structures that dotted the entire place it felt disorienting. Fortunately, she did not have to search far for him. Indeed, he was waiting on her. “Ahhh,” she heard him sigh, and she whipped her head around to see the mage. He grinned dangerously as he commented, “My disciples have sent me a fresh soul! Good, I was getting hungry.” Suddenly, the smile froze on his face and he cocked his head slightly, his brows furrowing as he said, “Wait. There’s something different about you …”

 

It was Shelvani’s turn to grin as she drew the Ebony Blade and said, “This experiment of yours is over, Malyn. You can’t escape your fate any longer.”

 

He drew his shoulders back, standing tall as he huffed, “And who are you to challenge me? I have conquered mortality itself! I’ve spat in the eyes of the Daedric Lords! This is _my_ realm now, I’ve sacrificed too much to let you take it from me.”

 

With that, he turned to run back down the long, narrow path he stood at, but not before he threw a couple of spells behind him. As the spells materialized, Shelvani inwardly groaned as the dremoras took shape. _Fucking conjurers_ , was all that went through her mind as she pulled up her sword to block the attack, parrying and cutting the first’s head off before plunging the blade through the chest of the second. With those dispatched, she followed Malyn down the path, but he didn’t make it easy on her. Every so often, he would turn and summon more dremoras, causing her to have to pause her pursuit and fight them off, lest she end up with a sword in her back, which was really not preferable. She would not be stopped however, and finally she caught up with him at what appeared to be the heart of the Star. He bent over, breathing heavily by the large crystal that jutted out from the floor, obviously spent of magicka and unable to summon anything else. He looked up to see Shelvani walking calmly towards him, dark blood dripping off her blade. “No,” he gasped. “Not like this!”

 

“Yes, like this,” Shelvani simply replied as she raised the sword and stabbed him through the back, breaking through his spine and spilling his guts onto the floor.

 

After the deed was done, she withdrew her weapon and wondered what she would need to do next. She hadn’t needed to wonder as she heard Azura’s comforting voice again, “The Star is free to purify itself. Do not worry, mortal, I will return you before you are cleansed.” With that, the same strange purple light encased her and she was weightless for a moment before she found herself at the base of Azura’s Shrine once again. The sun had set in the distance and twilight was setting in strong as she heard the Daedric Prince’s voice once more, “My Star has been restored and Malyn’s soul has been consigned to Oblivion. You have done well, mortal. As was destined, you are free to use my Star as you see it.”

 

Relief flooded her and she found tears pricking the edges of her eyes as she replied, “Thank you, Lady Azura.”

 

“Farewell, mortal. Know that Azura will be guarding over the threads of your fate in the Twilight.”

 

Years ago, that statement would have meant nothing to her. She would have spat in the face of whoever had offered her that sentiment and cursed their name. Now, however, after her extensive reading and research, after her long, long journey to align herself with the original pantheon that had guided her people from before they had even been Dunmer … now she felt great comfort and hope. Hope for the future. Hope that she would receive the guidance that she so desperately craved.

 

As she turned, she saw the priestess standing there, her cheeks wet with tears. She had not even asked her name before, so she did so now, wanting to know who had helped her achieve this. “Aranea. Aranea Ienith. I have served Azura since I was but a child. Even throughout my magical studies, my heart was constantly pulled to her until I devoted myself to her servitude.”

 

With that, she bowed her head, and Shelvani could tell something was wrong. “What is it, Aranea?”

 

She raised her head again, fresh tears starting to fall. “While you were in the Star, Azura gave me a vision. Her last, she said. I have never been without Azura’s guidance since escaping Morrowind. I don’t know what to do now. For the first time I feel … alone.” She bit her lip as she paused for a moment before she added softly, “If you need me, I would be honoured to accompany you, the Guardian of the Star. It would give me some sort of purpose.”

 

In that moment, Shelvani felt a certain sort of kinship with the fellow Dunmer. Their lives had held an opposite bend to each other until they met. Before, Shelvani had shunned all deities while Aranea had embraced them. Aranea had served them while Shelvani served herself. And now that Shelvani had found peace and a purpose of sorts, Aranea found that her purpose was now gone and she was suddenly adrift.

 

She could not leave her there, that she knew. While she normally eschewed companions in general - inexperienced companions especially - she couldn’t see herself abandoning the priestess after everything that had happened. This was not something she would normally do … but Shelvani felt that she had changed through these quests, discovering not just confidence in the guidance that the Daedric Princes offered but also things about herself. She felt that fate had created both her and the priestess purposefully as foils for the other in order to draw them closer together. She could not deny what fate had constructed.

 

Shelvani shifted on her feet and removed her mask as a show a friendship, smiling as she asked Aranea, “Have you ever been to Bravil?”

 

 

 

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End file.
